


Bruises

by pissedoffeskimo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedoffeskimo/pseuds/pissedoffeskimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just an excuse to defile the Metallicar, really. Although, the hot boy sex came in as a close second.  Finished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2006.

They had never talked about it. It’s not that they were ashamed, but Dean always cut Sam off with one of his quips, or turned the music up. Dean didn’t like to talk, so they never had, but that didn’t change the fact that it had happened, and that didn’t help Sam now when he was sitting in his brother’s car for the first time in two years, cataloguing the things that had and hadn’t changed.

Mile 189. Hm.

Sam sighed and sat back, dropping his head onto the seat and staring at the top of the Impala, ignoring the bright moon outside the window, the loud thumping of AC/DC coming from the speakers, and the chill from the glass next to his shoulder competing with the warm air from the heater.

He forced himself to think about Jess; sweet, beautiful Jess, waiting for him back in Palo Alto. All he had to do was close his eyes and sleep for another three hours and then he’d be home and he could leave this all behind. Again. Or, at least that was what he told himself; he’d never really been able to put it all behind him. He dreamed about it all the time, nightmares that made him strategically hide hunting knives around the apartment, just in case.

He took a deep breath and tried to keep thinking about Jess, but the car smelled like Dean, even stronger than two years ago when Sam had last been there. Two years seemed like forever ago, but that wasn’t far enough, not when that strong musky smell of Dean’s sweat still made his cock twitch with interest while his mind replayed years of fooling around in the backseat of the Impala and dingy motel rooms. Oh yeah, two years definitely hadn’t been long enough to erase that.

He looked over as Mile Marker 191 slipped past. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"How far away are we?" He asked like he didn’t know, like he wasn’t just asking so he could hear Dean’s voice. He missed it and in a few hours he was going to have to give it up again, this time for good.

"Three hours."

He nodded and shifted in his seat. "Hey, Dean?"

"What?"

His throat closed, but he forced the words out. "I’m sorry I can’t stay and help you look for Dad."

Dean turned up the music and Sam turned it off. Dean turned it back up and Sam turned it off again. Dean reached over to turn the music up for a third time but Sam grabbed his wrist. "You touch that dial and I will fucking break it, dude. I am not kidding."

Dean looked at him for a moment. Sam fought between the urge to stare him down and the urge to lecture him about keeping his eyes on the road. Glaring won out, but only because it was the middle of the night and the road they were on ran pretty much straight. After a minute of staring, Dean pulled his hand away and put it back on the wheel. "Whatever."

"You always do that."

"What?"

"The minute I want to talk, you..."

"Do you want to have sex?"

It was just a distraction technique, one that Dean used to use often, and Sam knew it, but that didn’t stop him from faltering as his mind screeched to a halt. The word sex coming from Dean’s mouth sent jolts of excitement to his cock, making it instantly hard. He stopped breathing. Did he want to have sex? Yes, but no. Yes, because he missed Dean so much, missed the smell of him, the feel of him when they were together like that; but, no, because he had Jess and he wasn’t supposed to want anyone else. The only reason Dean was doing this was so that Sam wouldn’t try and start some heart-to-heart conversation that he didn’t want to have.

Without another word, Dean pulled over to the side of the road. There weren’t any street lights and the houses were set so far back on the road, Sam could barely see the darkened windows. Sam tried to tell himself no, he didn’t want this, or, okay, he did want it, but he couldn’t do it, but Dean reached over and put a hand under Sam’s chin, forcing him to turn around and into a kiss. It was all at once foreign and familiar; he knew those lips, but the stubble was new, Dean always used to keep himself clean shaven.

Sam kept his mouth closed for a few seconds, thinking he wasn’t going to play this game. He wasn’t going to let Dean fuck him in the car on a country road, knowing that in three hours he was going to be lying next to Jess in their sheets that smelled like her lavender body rinse and the fruity shampoo she used. But Dean’s mouth moving over his made his defenses crumble. It took him back years and years and pushed Jess further away. He slowly started to reciprocate, opening for the tongue that touched his lips, spreading his legs for the hand that massaged his thigh.

Dean’s palm was warm through his jeans. Sam moaned softly, arching up into the touch and invasion of tongue in his mouth. Sam got a knee in his thigh and an elbow in his sternum as Dean crawled over him so that he was straddling his lap, still palming Sam’s cock and moving his mouth lower, sucking and biting on the tender column of Sam’s neck.

"Dean."

His brother’s mouth closed around his again, effectively shutting him up. Sam didn’t care, though, since Dean’s hands were expertly flipping open the button on his jeans and unzipping them, slipping past the waist band of his underwear and, oh, god. He moaned louder into Dean’s mouth, thrusting his hips up harder into the hand gripping him.

He’s missed this, so much so that it ate him up inside. He could even admit in this moment, that when he first saw Dean standing in his apartment, this had been what he thought of. It was wrong and it was a sin and they shouldn’t be doing this at all, he shouldn’t be doing this, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting it. He’d always wanted it, ever since he was thirteen and old enough to know what ‘it’ was.

Dean took his hand out of Sam’s pants and sat up enough to let Sam lift his hips so he could wriggle out of his jeans. Sam’s knee hit the glove compartment and Dean’s boots scraped against his leg as he used his feet to finish pushing Sam’s jeans and underwear down to his ankles. Getting Dean out of his pants was a little more difficult, but an elbow in the face and a knee in the stomach later they managed to get him naked from the waist down.

Instead of letting Dean twist around and risk getting hit again, Sam leaned past his brother, burying his face in Dean’s skin, licking and sucking on his brother’s shoulder while he rummaged around in the glove compartment for the lubricant that had always been there in the past, and was still there now. Briefly, he wondered what that meant. Had Dean been having sex with other men? He hadn’t before. Before it was Sam and the occasional waitress from some bar or diner. Back then, Sam had been okay with that - they were just cheap sluts that didn’t mean anything. Dean wouldn’t call them back, wouldn’t even remember their names in the morning. As he slicked his cock, Sam wondered if he’d be okay with it now. Not that it mattered, in three hours he’d be back in his normal life, with his normal girlfriend. He wondered if that bothered Dean as much as the idea of Dean with some backwater tramp bothered him.

He slipped his wet fingers between the cheeks of Dean’s ass, feeling the puckered entrance as it open to let him slide one finger inside him, just to the first knuckle. Dean groaned so softly it was more a loud exhale. It was perfect, exactly the way Sam remembered it. Dean whispered in a low voice, husky with need. "Sammy, either get on with it, or so help me I will bend you over this seat and show you how it’s done."

Sam chuckled into Dean’s shoulder, "Later." They both knew better. There wouldn’t be a later, but that didn’t matter. He pumped his finger a little, giving his brother a poor imitation of what they were both itching for.

"Sam..."

There was a warning in that word that made Sam shudder. Removing the finger, he gripped his cock in one hand and Dean’s hip in the other as he guided him down, moaning as Dean’s body reluctantly took him in. It was everything Sam remembered and the question of whether or not Dean had been with other men was solved. Dean was so tight it was almost painful.

He watched Dean’s face, concentrating on the way it tightened and the way those full lips were slack and open just a little so he could see the clenched teeth behind them. Once Dean was fully seated on his lap, they both released the breath they hadn’t noticed they were holding. Belatedly, Sam realized that Dean still had his shirt on and that was a shame. Then Dean shifted and Sam couldn’t think anymore.

Sam slumped to sit lower in the seat and pulled his hips back as Dean lifted up as much as he could without hitting his head on the top of the car. They had done this so many times, that even two years removed, it was still second nature to them. Dean didn’t even have to think about how to move his hips to get Sam’s cock to brush the right place that felt so fucking good that within minutes, Dean was cumming and Sam wasn’t far behind, gripping Dean’s hips hard enough to leave bruises.

They sat there, both of them sweaty and sated. The heater was still blasting and wasting what little gas Dean had in the impala, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His ass burned in that pleasant way that said he’d just had sex with Sam. That’s all that mattered for the first minute.

Dean had fallen over with his forehead against the top of the seat, panting softly. Sam knew what he was doing; he knew that Dean was breathing him in while he still could. He remembered the nights in motel rooms when Dean thought Sam was asleep and he’d do just this. They sat like that for a while; locked together in post coital bliss, knowing eventually they would have to pull apart.

 

*****

 

The next three hours were awkward. More awkward than the time Sam had walked in on Dean having sex with one of his high school teachers. Or the time Dad had busted in on them taking a shower together and Sam had had to pretend he was sick, so that Dean’s excuse of ‘he needed help getting cleaned up’ didn’t look like such an obvious lie. Or the time Sam had accidentally said Dean’s name when him and Jess were having sex and, really, he hadn’t been able to explain that - she’d looked at him sideways for weeks.

When they pulled into Palo Alto, Sam wished Dean a quick good luck. He meant it, even if he was secretly saying ‘don’t come back,’ since he didn’t know if he was strong enough to chose between Dean and Jess again.

Dean gave him a brief hug and Sam could smell himself on Dean. He knew his cum was dried on Dean’s ass, and the smell of sex was going to linger in the Impala for days. That shouldn’t make this harder, it should have disgusted him, but it didn’t and he had to rip himself away from his brother like he was ripping off a limb. It hurt to turn around and walk back up the stairs and listen to the Impala driving off without him.

He almost wished he could go back to the way things were before, but he had given that up. He’d given it up for a normal life and a girl that baked him cookies, and took long showers with the bathroom door half open so that lavender scented steam filled the bedroom, making him feel light headed in its familiarity. He closed his eyes and threw himself onto the bed, not sure who he’d betrayed first. Not that it mattered, really, because he’d made his choice and he couldn’t take it back, and didn’t want to. He just had to figure out how he was going to explain all the freaking bruises to Jess.

Then he opened his eyes.


	2. Six Months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in 2006.

**Six Months**  
  
Six months. Six fucking months they’d been on the road and nothing. Dean looked over at Sam, asleep with his head against the passenger window and scowled. How the hell could Sam possibly sleep when he hadn’t had sex in six months? Dean couldn’t sleep when he hadn’t had sex in six _days_. Of course, as annoyed as he was, he wasn’t going to wake Sam up, because the nightmares had just started to reach that manageable level that meant Sam was getting more than two hours sleep a night.  
  
Sam shifted in the seat, his freakishly long legs trying to curl in on him. The glove compartment stopped them with a loud clunk, but Sam didn’t wake up. Dean sighed and looked back at the road, still scowling. Movement meant Sam would wake up in about five minutes, startled by yet another nightmare. Of course, first he’d talk in his sleep, which was awkward and embarrassing and Dean would never, ever tell Sam about it. Not until he really needed the leverage, anyway.  
  
Sam’s breathing sped up, just a fraction, but Dean noticed, because he was listening for it. Any minute now, Sam would start moaning for Jess in that pitiful, complaintive whine, like he was begging her not to die again, not to leave him. Dean steeled himself for the guilt of hearing that voice and remembering how, just for a second, he’d been glad to see her pinned up there, burning. He’d thought, in that moment, ‘Sam’s mine,’ and it had been gone as soon as it formed, replaced with horror that it had ever been there, but he couldn’t forget it and it hurt every time he had to listen to Sam calling for her.  
  
He heard a hitch in Sam’s breathing hitched and clenched his teeth.  
  
“Dean.” Surprise made the tension leave his body like water from an upturned cup and his hands started to slip from the steering wheel before he realized what he was doing. Remembering himself, he grip the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Then Sam moaned. Not the customary moan of despair that Dean had become so familiar with, but the kind of moan that would have made a porn star blush.  
  
Unable to stop himself, Dean looked over and eyed the distinct bulge in Sam’s jeans. Sam shifted lower in the seat, a hand unconsciously moving to rub over the erection. Dean watched, transfixed as Sam’s head fell back against the seat and his mouth opened to elicit another one of those deep throated moans and...  
  
A horn blared and Dean managed to brake and swerve, just in time to avoid hitting a car he hadn’t realized he was coming up on. Sam jerked forward, saved from hitting the dash by the seatbelt that cut into his chest. Dean waved an apology at the guy who was flicking them off in his rear view and Sam held a hand over his chest, groaning, “What the fuck, Dean?”  
  
Dean shifted in his seat, keenly aware that despite nearly having crashed his baby at over 80 miles an hour, he was still achingly hard. “Nothing.”  
  
“Nothing?” Sam adjusted the seat belt, loosening it so he was no longer plastered to the seat. “Nothing doesn’t make you crash the car, Dean.”  
  
“I didn’t crash the car.”  
  
“Just about.” Sam rubbed his chest. “Dude, I’m gonna bruise.”  
  
Dean glared, because it was either that or stare at the way Sam’s hand was brushing casually against his own nipple. “Stop being such a baby.”  
  
They drove in silence for a few minutes, Sam still quite obviously fuming, which so wasn’t fair, because the entire ‘almost wrecking the car’ thing was Sam’s fault. Dean gave Sam a sideways glance and a wicked smile crept onto his face. “So, another nightmare?”  
  
Sam’s head twitched, like he’d just managed to stop himself from jerking it around. Turn about was definitely fair play and a hell of a lot of fun to boot. Instead of answering, Sam opened the glove box and grabbed the map, looking it over in confusion for several moments before realizing it was upside down. Finally righting it, he cleared his throat, “Where are we?”  
  
Dean’s grin widened and he had to take one hand from the wheel to wipe the smile from his face before Sam noticed. “An hour outside of Wisconsin. You were making some pretty interested noises back there.”  
  
“Noises?”And Sam’s voice was just so perfect when it squeaked like that.  
  
Shrugging, Dean kept his eyes on the road, because he knew he’d break out laughing if he looked over at Sam right then. “Yeah, sounded like you were, I dunno, in pain or something.”  
  
“Whatever.” Which was Sam’s way of saying ‘nothing’ and he wasn’t letting that slide.  
  
“Whatever? ‘Whatever’ doesn’t make you grope yourself in the middle of the night.”  
  
Sam’s fists clenched, crinkling the map and Dean did look over then. He couldn’t make out Sam’s face with that mop of hair in the way, but his neck and ears were bright fucking pink.  
  
“What, Sammy, nothing to say to that?”  
  
“Shut up.” Was the only response he got and that was mumbled.  
  
“No, come on, you wanted to talk, so let’s talk. Any particular reason you were calling out my name? Anything you were thinking about doing to me? Or me doing to you?” The pink was quickly becoming red and Dean pressed on. “‘Cause I gotta say, I was getting worried there. Not to say I don’t understand, I mean, it takes time, right? But a man’s still a man and you’ve been acting like a fucking Catholic priest.” He stopped himself and chuckled, “Or maybe not, all things considered.”  
  
Sam looked over then, wide eyed. “Oh, come on, Dean, not even you need to go there.”  
  
“Apparently, I do.”  
  
“My love life is my business.”  
  
“We’re not talking love, Sam, we’re talking sex. As in, you need to get some before you have another wet dream that drives me off the side of the road.”  
  
“Dude!”  
  
“What? I’m not that one rubbing myself up and moaning like a whore in my sleep.”  
  
Sam finally managed to turn his head away, looking out the window, his jaw set in determination not to respond to any more of Dean’s prodding. He didn’t have to, though, the telltale bulge in Sam’s pants was enough to tell Dean everything he needed to know.  
  
Dean pulled off to the side of the road, following a small, gravel drive as it ran behind a line of trees. It probably led to a house, but this late at night, the chances of anyone coming up on them were slim. Besides, they wouldn’t be there too long, not with what Dean had in mind. Sam squirmed in his seat, giving Dean one of those sidelong, apprehensive looks.  
  
Putting the car into park, Dean cut off the engine and turned half around. “So, Sammy, what were you dreaming about?”  
  
Sam shifted uncomfortably, “Dean...”  
  
Dean cut him off with a grin, “No, Sammy, you owe yourself this. Six months of self imposed celibacy and I’ve seen the looks you’ve given those girls I sleep with. So, tell me, Sammy, what were you dreaming about?”  
  
Softly, Sam said, “You.”  
  
“Me.” Dean shucked his over shirt, tossing it in the back. “What was I doing?”  
  
Sam’s hair was in his face again, but his neck was bright pink. “Touching me?”  
  
“You sure about that?” Dean reached forward and put his hand on Sam’s upper thigh, squeezing and Sam moaned softly. “Where was I touching you, Sam?”  
  
Sam’s head fell back against the seat as Dean’s hand moved higher on Sam’s leg, his thumb brushing against the jean covered head of Sam’s cock. “Dean.”  
  
“Where was I touching you?”  
  
“Mm.” Sam’s voice went high as Dean’s hand moved down towards his knee, “You know where.”  
  
It’s just that side of desperate, the good kind of desperate that makes Dean’s own dick give a happy twitch. Leaning forward, Dean breathes into the side of Sam’s neck, just below his ear. “Tell me anyway.”  
  
“My... co... cock.” The word hitches as Dean’s hand moves back up and grasps the thick length.  
  
“Like that?”  
  
“Uh hu. Only, harder.” Dean squeezed harder and Sam shifted lower in the seat, like he’d done in his sleep and he hissed a little when his knees hit the glove box. Well, that was just what he got for having those stupidly long legs.  
  
Biting Sam’s ear, Dean smiled, “I want to fuck you, Sam. I want you on your hands and knees and then I want to fuck you.” He punctuated the last two words by squeezing Sam’s cock and it was reward enough, the way Sam’s mouth fell open to gasp air and he pressed up into Dean’s palm.  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Please what, Sam?” He knew it drove Sam wild when Dean said his name like that, all breathy and heavy with lust, deep from the back of his throat and wild was just what Dean wanted right now. He remembered vividly the last time they’d had sex and he’d threatened to show Sam how it was done and Sam had said ‘later.’ Well, it was sure as hell later and Dean thought now was as good a time as any for a lesson. Lesson number one: make them beg.  
  
“Please, fuck me.”  
  
Dean tugged at Sam’s jeans, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper so he could get his hand inside, feel the hot, hard, fleshy length of cock against his fingers. “‘Please, fuck me’, what?”  
  
Sam opened his eyes, half lidded with lust as well as annoyance. “Please, fuck me, asshole.”  
  
Dean chuckled and rubbed harder, “Fair enough.”  
  
Lesson number two: get naked, because naked was good. It took him a few minutes to get Sam’s pants off, mostly because Sam was so disgruntled at having the hand removed from his pants that he didn’t realize what Dean was trying to do. Dean congratulated himself on having turned the heater up so high that Sam had shucked his jacket before going to sleep, because the boy already wore like fourteen fucking layers of clothes and Dean really, really needed to see him naked.  
  
When the two shirts had been pulled off and discarded into the backseat, Dean sat back, just for second, and admired the view. That was lesson three: enjoy it while you had it and that was a lesson that Dean knew pretty fucking well. He had Sam now, didn’t know for how long, or even if this would ever happen again, so he took that moment to just soak it in - the tan skin, stretched tight over the defined muscles of his chest, the hard ripples of the abdomen, the deep V of Sam’s hips, the hard length of his brother’s cock, jutting up from between toned thighs and the soft hair that covered those legs, growing a little thicker and darker on the calves.  
  
He took it all in, down and then back up again. This was his - by default, maybe, and only for now, sure, but his. Leaning in, he slowly kissed Sam, drawing it out with tongue and teeth until Sam was breathless and flushed and groping at Dean’s pants, trying to get them undone and off.  
  
Pulling back, Dean smiled and made a motion with his head. “Get up and turn around.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Lesson number four: take control back before you lose it and he was really close to losing it. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be begging Sam to say he’d stay and Sam would say it, too, because in the throws of passion, Sam would say just about anything. Then, because Sam didn’t break promises, he would stay, but he’d resent it and Dean wasn’t about to let things get that far. This was sex, this was release of tension and that was all. That was enough.  
  
Sam shifted around, until he was on his hands and knees, ass presented to Dean and Dean was practically salivated over it. Oh, god, it had been far, far too long since he’d seen Sam this way. “Dean?”  
  
Reflexively, he slapped Sam’s hip, “Shut up, I’m enjoying the view.”  
  
“Jerk.”  
  
Dean curled his hand around Sam’s hip and wrapped it around Sam’s cock. Control, don’t lose control. “What was that?”  
  
“Fuck, nothing, just... god, please, Dean, fuck me.”  
  
“That’s my boy.” Lubricant was in the glove compartment near Sam’s head and that was too far away, so Dean leaned forward and did the next best thing.  
  
“Oh, god.” Sam’s voice went several octaves higher as Dean’s tongue wormed its way into his ass, then dropped into a deep moan as the surprise turned into, “Fuck, Dean, god, please, please, oh god, feels... feels... oh, _fuck_.”  
  
He pushed a finger in, tracing around its edge with his tongue, enjoying the nonsensical babbling that fell from Sam’s lips like worship. “Fu... oh, god, more, Dean, harder.” Adding a second finger, he moved them in and out, fucking Sam with them, listening to litany of cursing and ‘oh god’ that made him feel just that much more in control of the situation.  
  
“Dean, now, please. Dean...” Dean moved the fingers in, angling them to brush against Sam’s prostrate and grinning when Sam broke down in, “oh, fuck, oh god, Dean just fuck me, already.”  
  
“Since you asked so nicely.” Withdrawing the fingers, Dean spat generously on his hand, coating his cock. There was resistance at first, but nothing more than one would expect from someone who hadn’t done this in probably a few years. Sam’s whole body shuddered as the resistance gave way and Dean slid in, eased by nothing more than spit and need and that was more than enough.  
  
Neither of them were going to last long. Sam, because it’d been six months and Dean, because... well, because it was _Sam_. It took five thrusts and a few strokes of his hand to make Sam cum, splattering all over the upholstery and three thrusts later, Dean followed, not bothering to pull out, mostly because he was too caught up in how fucking good it felt and how much he’d wanted this for so long.  
  
They didn’t move for a while after, Dean hunched over Sam and Sam with his elbows on the seat, panting into the leather. Finally, Dean’s leg started to cramp and he lifted an arm, lazily slapping the side of Sam’s thigh. “Good boy.”  
  
Sam gave a half chuckle and swatted back at him as Dean pulled away, slipping out of Sam’s ass with a wet noise. “Shut up.”  
  
Its several more minutes before they’re both dressed and even then, neither of them particular wanted to move more than strictly necessary, so Dean didn’t bother to do more than turn the car back on so they had heat. Sam sighed and looked out at the dark little road, surrounded by trees. “Dean, I can’t... this can’t be anything more than what it is.”  
  
“I know, Sammy.” He did know, too, had always known, because they’d been through this before and to Dean, it just sounded like a broken record. What they did wasn’t about love, or a relationship, it was about need and comfort and getting off when there wasn’t anyone else around. Dean fucked whoever else he wanted and Sam got stupid crushes on silly girls, because this was just sex.  
  
“So, we’re cool, then? With this going back to the way it was?”  
  
No. “Yeah. We’re cool.”  
  
“Good.” And Dean thought it was pretty ironic that it was Mr. Commitment smiling that lazy, pleased smile and it was Mr. One Night Stand who felt like his fucking heart was being ripped in two.


	3. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted in 2011.

Sam wasn’t good with his emotions. He was better than Dean, granted, but there were times when a chipmunk had a better grasp on what it was feeling than Dean did, so that wasn’t very hard. Unlike Dean, though, it wasn’t that Sam couldn’t deal with his emotions, it was that he often failed to realize what he was feeling until it blind-sided him and by then it was generally too late to do anything about it.

Case in point: Jessica. Growing up, Sam had never stayed in one place long enough to develop more than crushes and half-assed attempts at relationships that were always, at least for him, based on the fact that he could be leaving at any given moment. So, when he started going out with Jess, it was new and scary territory. Good scary, but still scary as hell. He wasn’t sure what to say, or how to act until one day, two years later, he’d realized that he loved her. Really loved her. As in, wanted to raise a family with her and grow old together. Once he’d figured that out, he’d known what to do. Then, Jess had died before he could do it. Although, he liked to think that, knowing how well Jess knew him, she’d probably already figured it out.

The point was, it had been three months since starting the whole ‘having sex with Dean’ thing again and Sam couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew something wasn’t right. He’d just be damned if he could figure out what it was.

Dean grinned at the waitress and the girl smiled back, cocking her hip and there was the barest hint of tongue against her teeth. Sam might have thought she was pretty if he wasn’t so busy being pissed at Dean. If Dean wanted to bang some bimbo waitress, that was his business, but when it started to get in the way of their work, that was... unprofessional.

Sam glared at the table top and if Dean noticed, he ignored it, which was just fine with Sam. When the food arrived, Dean winked at the busty blonde and she winked back and Sam’s stomach twisted in knots. Stupid Dean and his stupid need to spread his fucking seed like it was manifest destiny or something.

Grabbing jacket from the booth, Sam got up, “I don’t feel good. I’m gonna go back to the room and turn in early.”

Dean just shrugged, his eyes on the retreating girls back side, “‘Kay.”

And somehow that made it worse. Sam managed not to slam the restaurant door behind him, but did storm across the street, telling himself he was angry because Dean was going to be out all night again, he wouldn’t get back until close to dawn and that meant they wouldn’t get back on the road until after noon tomorrow. Hours wasted because Dean wanted pussy.

He did slam the door to the motel room. He slammed it hard enough to rock the painting on the wall above dresser and then he threw himself onto his bed, glaring at the ceiling with disdain. Why did Dean insist on sleeping with complete strangers? Why did he want to stay out all night, when if he was really that horny, Sam was more than willing to oblige?

After a while, he turned his head to look at the other bed. They hadn’t slept apart since that first time in the car all those months ago, but Dean still insisted on keeping up appearances. Sam didn’t think they were fooling anyone. When the maid service came in the next morning, they’d see one bed rumpled and slept in, the other smooth and untouched. Still, if it made Dean feel better...

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up to Dean stumbling in at around two in the morning, smelling like cheap perfume and collapsing on the bed next to him, stupid grin plastered on his flushed face. The knot in Sam’s stomach tightened and he pretended to go back to sleep, waiting until Dean’s breath had evened out before he got up.

A shower and three hours later, Sam woke up Dean, because he was still annoyed and angry and if Dean was lagged and tired it was his own damn fault for being out all night when he knew they had to keep moving.

They hadn’t been on the road for more than an hour, Dean all but passed out next to him, when Sam had realized he wasn’t all that sure why he was angry. Okay, yeah, Dean had been out all night and, yeah, it set them back a few hours, but it wasn’t like they were on a schedule or anything. There wasn’t a specific case they were trying to get to, it was just that Dean had said he wanted to get out of town as soon as possible.

So, he’d started to think about it and from there it was only ten minutes before he was staring at the road in front of him with wide eyes, not really seeing anything, because, oh god, he loved Dean. As in loved him. As in the idea of Dean sleeping with that tall, trampy blonde from the night before made Sam want to hit something.

The only problem was, Dean wasn’t Jess, he was Dean and Dean didn’t do emotions, didn’t do relationships. Even Cassie, who Dean had claimed up and down was the love of his life, he wasn’t faithful to. Not that Sam blamed him for that, they saw her once every few months if they were lucky, but still. That was Dean.

So, instead of buying him flowers and candy and shopping for rings, it came down to this: Sam let Dean do whatever he wanted, even when what he wanted was to have a one night fling with some slut, because Sam couldn’t think of anything else to do; and when Dean finally came back in their room, smelling like cheap perfume and cheaper women, Sam would pin Dean’s exhausted body to the bed and lick him and fuck him, until Dean was a quivering mess of shaky legs and panting breath.

They were laid out on the bed, post-orgasmic exhaustion racking their bodies. Dean was covered in that fine sheen of sweat that made his skin glow and Sam was thinking about latching onto one of those overly sensitive nipples and seeing how long it would take him to get his brother hard again. Probably a while, actually. He’d probably end up between Dean’s knees, sucking him hard and just the idea of coaxing Dean’s cock with his mouth made him lick his lips.

He leaned over, flicking his tongue out and grinned at the sharp of hiss of air between Dean’s teeth. God, but he loved Dean’s body. It was absolutely made for this, made for him. Sam looked at the bruise on Dean’s neck and leaned up, covering it with his mouth and ignoring Dean’s pained grunt as he sucked. It had been a soft pink less than an hour ago, left there by that floozy Dean had picked up and Sam had spent ten minutes making it dark and purple and his.

“Sam, I don’t really think...” Sam bit into the mark and Dean’s hand shot up to grip the back of Sam’s neck. “Jesus!”

Sam run a hand down Dean’s body, brushing his finger tips over the hardened nipples and down to the limp dick, feeling the shudder through Dean’s entire body when Sam’s fingers wrapped around it and squeezed. “Fuck, Sammy.”

Sam smiled into Dean’s neck and moved up and over, covering his brother’s mouth with his own, working his tongue past Dean’s lips. His own spent penis gave an interested jerk as Dean’s fingers threaded through his hair and tugged a little, not to pull him off, but to assert control he didn’t really have.

He deepened the kiss and opened his hand, rubbing his palm over Dean, feeling him twitch in interest. God, so fucking perfect. He loved the way Dean tasted, smelled, felt. Loved everything about him. Loved when Dean was spent and ready to go again, this time slower, longer, harder.

Pulling off Dean’s mouth, Sam grinning down at that flushed face, taking his hand off Dean’s cock to hook it under Dean’s knee and lift one leg up. Screw blowjobs, he wanted to fuck Dean hard again, wanted to slide into the still slick body and hit that angle that would have Dean shuddering and babbling nonsense and begging.

The lube was still on the pillow, where they’d thrown it earlier and Sam took it up, squeezing it onto his fingers and sliding them easily into Dean. Even though they’d been fucking not five minutes ago, Dean was still tight and the half pained, half needy whimpers coming from the back of Dean’s throat were egging Sam on. He slipped a third finger in, pressing his hand forward and twisting it to brush Dean’s prostate until Dean reached up, grabbing Sam’s arm, his head pressed back into the pillow, his eyes glazed and rolled back.

Dean pushed against Sam’s hand, moaning and Sam could have come from just that alone - just watching Dean. Removing the fingers, Sam slid his hand down and over himself, wiping tracing of the lubricant on the shaft before positioning himself. He held his breath as he pushed the head of his cock past the tight puckered entrance and held still, listening intently to Dean’s panted please, “God, Sammy, just do it.”

Sam had no intention of ‘just doing it.’ Slowly, he sank the rest of the way into Dean’s ass, eased marginally by what was left of the lubricant in Dean’s ass. It was too tight and too hot, but Dean moaned and gasped, pushing back against him and Sam closed his eyes, concentrating on pressing forward until he was balls deep and clenching his teeth with the effort not to come. It was always like this with Dean, like it didn’t matter that he’d come only minutes ago, he might as well be a horny teenager again for all the control he had.

Unlike a horny teenager, though, Sam had enough experience to know how to do this right. He stayed, unmoving inside Dean for nearly a minute, clenching his fists in the blankets as Dean’s hands tightened around Sam’s biceps. When he felt the immediate tingling of release start to fade, he let himself move, just inches at first, two or three, in and out of Dean, until Dean moved his legs, pulling them over Sam’s shoulders and making the glide easier.

Bring one arm under and around, Sam forced Dean to lift half onto his shoulders so they were pressed together, Dean’s cock trapped against Sam’s abdomen and he could slam up into Dean in a forward glide that stroked his brother’s cock with every thrusts. Short nails dug into Sam’s arms as Dean’s ass clenched tight around him, spasming with every shot of hot come that spilled between them.

Sam held himself still, watching Dean’s face as his brows tightened together and his teeth clenched. He waiting until Dean had come down from his orgasm, until Sam wasn’t about to come himself. Then he started to move again, using long languid strokes that made Dean’s entire body shudders and his toes curl.

He managed to hold himself off for another ten minutes. Ten minutes of listening to Dean’s desperate pleas. Ten minutes of that tight body, sucking him in and pressing him out. Ten minutes of his hands running over Dean’s well-muscled back and thighs, stroking the skin until he knew he was too close and he didn’t even want to hold off this time.

When Dean came this time, it was with a litany of “shit, shit, shit, Sammy, fuck” and Sam closed his eyes, latching onto that purples mark again as his own orgasm ripped through him. They fell onto the bed, both of them once again panting and sweaty and sated. Sam closed his eyes, spooning himself around Dean.

By the time Sam woke up the next morning, Dean was showered and dressed, kicked Sam’s feet where they stuck out under the covers. “Get up, geek boy, I’m fucking starved.” Like nothing was wrong, like last night hadn’t been some of the most intense sex either of them had ever had. Bar none.

Dean went on outside to wait for Sam and for several minutes, Sam couldn’t move. Eventually, he did, though. Thing about being a Winchester was, shit moved on. It didn’t matter what was going on with them, or how fucked up their lives were, the demons and the ghosts weren’t going to take a break so they could figure it out.

So, instead of saying anything, he ate breakfast quietly, watched Dean pouring over newspaper articles and rambling on about possible cases. Or maybe he wasn’t rambling, but Sam was having trouble concentrating on words when he could see a teasing glimpse of the dark purple mark hidden under Dean’s collar.

“Dude?” Sam blinked, realizing that Dean was staring at him expectantly, pen pressed against those too-full lips. “You okay?”

Sam nodded and stuffed his mouth with eggs so he wouldn’t have to talk. After a minute, Dean shrugged, shaking his head and went on talking, “Anyway, missing kids, Wyoming, you there?”

Sam nodded again, not because he was paying attention or he agreed, or anything, but because nodding didn’t require opening his mouth and Sam wasn’t sure exactly what would come out if he did.

Months had gone by like that and Sam still couldn’t bring himself to say a damned thing. Some days the need to tell Dean how he felt overwhelmed him, but he just wasn’t sure how Dean would take it, or if he’d take it. And Dean knew Sam better than anyone, so usually on those days, Dean got this curious look on his face, like he knew something was wrong and was trying to figure out what it was. That was easily remedied, though, because the best way to distract Dean was with sex and Sam was more than happy to use that particular tactic.

Eventually, though, things were bound to blow up in his face, but Sam figured it wouldn’t happen until after they’d killed the demon and that was shaping up to be a long, long ways away. Of course, what Sam had forgotten, was that he was a Winchester, and Murphy’s Law of everything going wrong had nothing on the Winchester Law of give it time and we’ll fuck it up all on our own.


	4. Game.  Set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go and it's already written and beta'd. I'll post in a week or two, depending on my work load.

Sam didn’t give Dean nearly enough credit, because despite what Sam may have thought, Dean knew damn well he had emotions and he knew exactly what they were, he was just really good at hiding them, because that was what men did. Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t talk it out. Men didn’t write letters to each other expressing their inner most desires. A man identified what he was feeling and then he made sure no one else knew about it. Unless it was something appropriate – like being horny, or if someone fucked with your car, or sometimes, when you were really, really drunk.

So Dean knew Sam was it and he knew Sam knew he was it, too, but Sam didn’t know he knew and Dean wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. Didn’t mean he couldn’t use it against him, though.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t fuck pretty girls on the side so Sam would fuck him half raw and hard later, because that was how Dean liked it. He would never admit it - not even under the dreaded and never talked about feather torture that nearly made Dean piss himself and put a ban on handcuffs in the bedroom for a year – but he liked it when Sam took charge. Hell, he more than liked it. When Sam squared his shoulders, set his jaw and narrowed those eyes, Dean’s knees went weak like a chick on prom night.

He’d run a study over the past couple of years and found that the type of girl Dean nailed affected exactly how hard Sam was gonna nail him in return. Tall brunettes got passing glares. The shorter and more blonde they were, the more furious Sam got. Intelligence had something to do with it, too. If the girl had even half an IQ, Sam just seemed impressed, so Dean tried to stick with the ones that had trouble spelling their own name.

All of this would be really handy information if Sam wasn’t such a damn girl himself.

The thing of it was, Dean got himself killed. He went to hell where he was flayed alive, gutted, and tortured in more ways than he wanted to remember and then angels brought him back and he was some kind of special something they wouldn’t even tell him about.

None of that was supposed to matter, though. None of that meant Sam couldn’t pin him facedown on a worn out mattress and plow him till he couldn’t sit straight. Except Sam wouldn’t. Sam thought he was ‘fragile.’ Sam thought he needed ‘time.’

Dean seethed in the passenger seat where he was supposed to be taking a nap while they drove to their next case and glared daggers at the iPod docking station like that’s what he was really mad at.

Men didn’t need time and Dean was a man, damnit - one that wanted to be bent over the hood of the car and fucked with spit and a prayer, but a man none the less.

“Dude, look, I’m sorry about the car, okay? I’ll take it out the next time we get a break.”

See, that was what men did. They deflected so no one knew what they were really thinking. Why the hell couldn’t Sam just be a man and deflect? Why couldn’t he just do what Dean knew he wanted to - what they both fucking wanted to do? Why did he have to insist on getting all touchy feely with his emotions every time Dean gave him the prefect set up?

_‘Here I am, flirting with a five foot two blonde who killed her last brain cell with bleach twelve years ago and giggles like she’s grating nails on a chalk board. Come get me!’_

Sam sighed heavily, “Fine, okay? If it bothers you that much, we’ll just do it right now!”

_Damn right we will._

Sam pulled the car off the road and the second the parking brake locked, Dean was on him, pushing him back against the door and smashing his mouth against his brother’s like the punishment it was. Sam’s surprised grunt turned into a pleased moan as Dean angled his body to press their cocks together through their jeans.

Then Sam’s hands were on the back of his head, fingers tightening in the short clipped hair and Dean fought the shudder that threatened to give him away. He got a grip on Sam’s thigh and pulled him down to lay flat on the seat, jarring his brother’s head against the door and hitting the steering wheel with his elbow.

Squeezing the hard line of muscle on the back of Sam’s leg, Dean sent a silent apology to his baby. He’d give her a wax job later, or maybe buff the bumper. Sam cut that train of thought by thrust his hips up against Dean’s and Dean responded by dropping Sam’s leg in favor of digging through three layers of shirts to find the buckle of Sam’s pants.

Sam broke the kiss, panting in an effort to catch his breath while lifting his hips to give Dean better leverage to get them off. His head smacked the car door again and Dean slapped his hip sharply. “Dude, watch the car.”

Sam gave him his patented pursed lipped look of disapproval that broke the second Dean slunk down the seat, taking Sam’s pants with him, and sat up only long enough to open the door behind him.   He had to crawl half out and brace one leg against the ground to give himself the kind of leverage he needed, but it was worth it to see the daze fall over Sam’s face and hear the cracked moan from his brother as his lips wrapped around Sam’s cock.

It was heavy and familiar against his tongue and he worked it with practiced ease. Take it deep, swallow, pull back and play with the head a minute, fondle the balls and work the shaft, then go down again and Sam dropped his head to the seat.

“Fuck, Dean…”

Like a prayer and Dean was more than willing to answer. Still bobbing up and down, Dean opened the glove compartment on the third try and fumbled his hand around until he came up with the lube. He dropped down, taking Sam into the back of his throat and savored the deep, guttural moan that came from his brother’s chest.

Fucking loved that, too, almost as much as he loved getting fucked. Loved knowing he could rip that primal sound from Sam with just his mouth. Right now, though, he was going take what he could get. He was going make Sam beg and plead and cum, he was going to fuck him hard and then he was going make Sam return the favor. Maybe not right away, because he had to do something about Sammy’s little hang-up first, but soon.

He thumbed the cap of the bottle open and tipped a small amount on a finger, wedging it slowly, but persistently into Sam’s ass. Sam tensed at the initial intrusion, but relaxed almost immediately, hand clenching in Dean’s hair as the finger moved, digging deeper one inch at a time.

It wasn’t about preparation, it was about dragging it out and making Sam beg for it. It was about the desperate thrust of Sam’s hips that drove his cock that much deeper into the back of Dean’s throat. It was about the steady litany of curse words dripping from Sam’s lips that were like a dirty prayer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dean.” And how the hell Sam could say only a name and make it a command and a plea was beyond Dean, but it made his cock leak in his jeans.

Hooking Sam’s legs over his shoulder, Dean sat up, bending Sam over almost double, knees pressed nearly to his chest. Catching Sam’s mouth with his, he bit and nipped at Sam’s lips while he undid his jeans and kicked them down just enough to get his cock out and slicked up.

Sam bit back at him and Dean pulled back, grinning, “Eager little slut, today, aren’t we?”

“Dude, just… shut up and fuck me already.”

Been saying that for months. Maybe not in words, but it was in every slut blonde he picked up at bars. In every time he poked and prodded Sam’s weak spots. In every time he looked at Sam when his brother wasn’t looking at him.

Taking Sam’s mouth back up, he pressed and pushed forward, sliding into Sam slowly, feeling the give as the tight hole opened under him and the sharp intake of breath into his mouth from Sam as it slid the first few inches in, followed by the deep throated groan that was the most delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

Sam reached one hand over his head, bracing it against the door and used the other to grab Dean’s ass, dragging him forward the last torturous inches, panting through gritted teeth.

Slowly, Dean pulled out, pressing back in and Sam let go of Dean’s ass, grabbing his own cock and stroking it to the quickening speed of the cock driving into him. When he came it was with a curse and the tightening grip of Sam’s ass around Dean’s cock had him dropping his head and panting his own climax into Sam’s sweaty shoulder.

It was several minutes before either of them could move. Forty fucking years in hell and the only thing he’d thought about, right up until and even after he got off the rack was Sam. His Sam, only his Sam. No matter what Alastair made him into, or whether Sam eventually moved onto someone else, it would always be him emblazoned on and in Sam – from the first time they had sex as awkward teenagers in the back of the Impala. This is mine. Sam is mine and he can fuck whoever else he wants, but that doesn’t change who his heart belongs to, who his body ultimately goes back to every time.

Sitting up, Dean smacked the side of Sam’s leg hard enough to get a surprised yelp from his brother. “Jerk!” 

“Come on, I’m driving.”

Sam shifted back, sitting up stiffly and opened the door, pulling his pants up as he tumbled out of the car. “We really need to stop having sex in the car. We barely fit in there.”

Dean chuckled, moving into his rightful place behind the wheel and buckling his pants. “You’ve been saying that for ten years.”

Sam stopped and looked back at Dean for a second and there it was again. That haunted expression that said Sam had thought about that in the few months Dean was gone. That maybe he’d thought that a lot. In fact, no maybes. Sam had sat in the car, laid down on the seat and imagined having Dean over him or under him. Imagined fighting for space and angle and release in the tight confines of the Impala. Imagined, because Dean had been gone and he wasn’t coming back and Sam had blamed himself for it.

The look was gone in an instant, replaced by another, equally infuriating one. The softened eyes and sad smile and tip of the head, acquiescing to whatever Dean said because Dean was fragile.

Back to square fucking one.

It was okay, though. Dean had a plan, because that was what men did. They shut their damn mouths and they planned.


	5. Match.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best laid plans…

Dean had died. He’d fucking died and come back and Sam still couldn’t bring himself to tell him how he felt. It hadn’t really mattered before, because he figured their lives were already so fucked up that as long as he had Dean it was okay. He’d share him and if Dean didn’t know it killed Sam a little each time, that was okay, too.

When Dean died, Sam had sat in front of the unmarked grave until he couldn’t feel his legs and Bobby came to get him because it was raining and he hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. He couldn’t even really remember what he’d been thinking because Dean had died and Sam had never told him.

For months after, he silently rehearsed what he would have said. Nothing too wordy or sappy. In his head, he’d just say something like. “Hey, dude, you know you’re it, right? For me.” and Dean would cuff him upside the head and tell him to stop being such a girl, but yeah, yeah he knew that already.

Except Dean was dead and that hadn’t happened.

Then Dean came back. Angels had brought him back from the pits of hell and Sam couldn’t have been happier. The first night Sam had wanted nothing more than to throw Dean against a wall and fuck him so hard he would have to crawl to bed and then he wanted Dean to return the favor. Instead he’d spent over an hour with his mouth and his tongue and his hands, making sure it was real, Dean was real and when they finally got around to having sex it had been slow and teasing and just about everything Sam figured was perfect if only because it was Dean over him and in him.

He’d been so caught up in that moment, he hadn’t even thought to say it and after… after he just wasn’t sure how. Dean was scarred and rightfully so - the man had literally been to hell and back - but that didn’t make it easier.

It had been months now. Months of sex in motel rooms, cars, once against a tree because Sam’s head still hurt from hitting the top of the Impala trying to get just that much further into Dean. It had also been months of watching Dean have sex with random women like he was trying to make up for lost time and Sam couldn’t bring himself to take it out on Dean later, no matter how much he wanted to, because he’d only just gotten him back and sometimes Dean seemed so fragile.

And he shouldn’t be mad, Sam knew that. Maybe Dean really needed this, or maybe he just really wanted it, but either way, Sam had no business getting that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched Dean flirt with the girl at the bar. He shouldn’t feel bitter or betrayed. He shouldn’t feel anything other than grateful that Dean was back, that he was himself, that he was Sam’s. Most of the time, anyway.

It only got worse when Dean took her hand and led her back to the table, though, smiling a couple degrees too bright at Sam.

She was just Dean’s type, with long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and silky soft skin. She wore her skirt too high and her tank top too tight. She giggled in an annoyingly high pitch, but made up for it by laughing at everything Dean said and draping herself over him like an afghan.

“Sam, this is Chrissie, she’s a shopping major.”

Sam tried desperately not to choke on his beer. “Really? And how does one major in shopping?”

Chrissie giggled, “It’s so hard. There are all these courses on interior decorating and art appreciation and like, math.”

Dean just kept smiling at her, like she was about to win the goddamned Nobel prize for learning basic algebra. “She’s gonna study in Italy this summer.”

Sam raised a mocking eyebrow, but Chrissie didn’t seem to get the sarcasm behind the surprise in his face. “I know, right? I’m so like excited. I have to study the culture and how much things are worth. Oh, but I’m kinda nervous, because like my teacher says they’ll want me to be able to do the currency in my head, like, without a calculator or anything and I’m supposed to keep up with the exchange rate every day. Like, they’re going to randomly quiz me to make sure and stuff.”

“And stuff. Really?”

Her smile faltered a little, but Dean put a finger under her chin, turning her attention back to him with his sparkling green eyes and easy smile. “Why don’t you go get us some more drinks and I’ll talk to Sammy here, see if I can get him to join the party.”

She giggled again and nodded once before bouncing off in her six inch heals. Jesus, how did anyone walk in those things? Dean sat down next to Sam, his face in a half-cocked smile, wiggling his eyebrows. Sam knew what that look meant and the answer was an emphatic no. He shook his head, taking a long gulp of his beer and ignored Dean’s pleadings eyes.

When Sam wouldn’t look at him, Dean switched tactics to include words. “Please?”

“No. “

“Come on, Sammy.” Sam kept his lips clamped tightly around the neck of the bottle. “Plea...”

Sam cut him off, “Dean, you want to sleep with some floozy grad student, be my guest.”

“But?”

_But it’ll kill me. But I’ll hate you for it. But I’ll hate myself more for letting you._

“But I’m not having any part of it.”

Dean put his hands on the table, leaning forward. Sam looked over to the bar where Chrissie was loading shot glasses onto a tray. “Sam, she has a thing for brothers.”

Sam’s breath caught and he looked back at Dean. “What?”

Dean’s face split into a wicked grin. “That’s right. When I told her you were my brother, she was all over it.”

Sam turned fully in his seat, staring at the giggling blonde in disbelief, only half listening to Dean.

“She wanted to know if we’d ever ‘you know, experimented with each other and stuff.’”

Sam bit back his laughter, “And stuff.”

“Right, but, see. I told her we hadn’t really - well, maybe a little back in high school, but nothing more than touching here and there. She really seemed to get off on that and, man, I just spent an hour letting her talk me into it.” Dean’s grin was positively lascivious as he looked over, winking at her. Chrissie’s face went bright red, her grin so wide it could split her face.

Sam waited until Dean looked back at him, eager with anticipation. “No.”

“Oh, come o… hi, Chrissie.”

She sat down, her tray loaded with three glasses of whatever-it-was she’d gotten, taking them off and setting them on the table with a big, suggestive wink at Sam.

Dean gave Sam those big, green, pleading eyes again and Sam sighed. He wasn’t into it and there was no way in hell he was going to shack up with some random girl just because Dean wanted pussy. Getting up, he reached for his jacket, only to have Dean stop him with a hand on his arm. “Just stay a little while. She already bought you a drink.”

Sam looked from Dean to Chrissie, who was holding her breath and staring at the place where Dean’s hand was touching Sam’s arm. He wasn’t doing this, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t accept the drinks. “Fine. What is this, anyway?”

Chrissie giggled and Sam almost left right then. Would have, except Dean’s hand grabbed high up on his thigh under the table and he was instantly half hard. Thankfully, or maybe not, Chrissie was too busy setting out shot glasses to notice. “Vodka.”

Dean’s fingers tightened on Sam’s thigh, pushing up to brush against the head of his swelling cock, his eyes never leaving Chrissie. With his free hand, Dean took one of the glasses in front of him and downed the contents in a long gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing.

Reluctantly, Sam reached for his own glass and sipped tentatively. Not bad. Tilting it back, Sam finished it, letting the alcohol slide easily down his throat. Chrissie slid her still full glass across the table, smiling brightly and there was something wrong, Sam just couldn’t figure it out.

 

*****

 

Conniving, half brained little bitch who was apparently not quite as stupid as Sam had thought she was. It was three hours later, the bar was mostly empty except two guys playing pool, one man drowning himself in beer, the bartender, and them. Chrissie had bought an entire bottle of vodka, and not the cheap stuff either. It went down smooth and Sam wasn’t sure why he hadn’t walked out yet, but he was blaming the alcohol. And Dean’s hand, because it hadn’t left his leg since this whole thing started.

Chrissie giggled and bit her lip, taking a long look at them. “I’ve never had sex in a car.”

Sam was willing to bet that was a lie, but he grabbed the offered bottle and drank anyway. Dean took one too and tapped the neck of it on his mouth, thinking. Sam tried not to eye that mouth. He tried not to think about how it would feel if that were his cock instead of the bottle and he failed.

“I’ve never slept with the same girl for more than two weeks.”

This time, Sam gave Chrissie some credit, because she actually drank, winking at them before passing the bottle to Sam, who took a deep swig before stomping it down and sighing. “I’ve never...” he looked at Dean pointedly, “had a fist up my ass.”

Chrissie’s jaw dropped open, because it wasn’t hard to read that Sam was making a point and that point was that no matter whether Dean was willing to admit it or not, a fist had been up there and Sam knew about it.

With a quick, half hearted, “fuck you.” Dean grabbed the bottle and drank, passing it Chrissie who shook her head, laughing. “Okay, okay. I’ve never…” she pretended to think about it real hard, “kissed my own brother.”

Sam took the offered bottle and considered his options. He considered taking it and leaving. He considered telling her to fuck off. He considered throwing it against a wall. He considered a lot of things before he took a drink and passed it over. Dean didn’t hesitate.

Chrissie’s smile was wide and eager. “Hey, Sam?” He waited. “I dare you to kiss Dean. Right now, in front of…”

Before she could finish, he grabbed the back of Dean’s head, pulling him into a rough kiss. Normally, public wasn’t their thing. In fact, public was pretty much entirely off limits, but he was drunk, achingly hard and just about at the end of his rope. Dean’s nails dug into his jeans and he responded by tightening his grip, working Dean’s mouth open and sliding his tongue in.

He tilted his head to the side, forcing Dean to do the same for a better angle and Dean made a noise like he was thinking about protesting, but wasn’t really trying to get away. Reluctantly, Sam pulled back, panting softly and drinking in Dean’s flushed face, swollen lips and glossy eyes.

The bar was dead silent. No talking, no pool queue hitting balls, not even the sound of glasses tinkling against each other as the bartender kept himself busy and Sam could actually feel the eyes burrowing into them.

Chrissie opened and closed her mouth several times before finally speaking. “I’m gonna just get the tab.”

Dean eyes narrowed just slightly, fixed on Sam as he slapped a bill on the table. “That should take care of it.” She started to protest, but he dragged his eyes away from Sam and winked at her. “Go on, I got this.”

She smiled back and took the bill, bouncing off. The moment her back was turned, Dean took Sam’s hand, pulling him up out of his chair and across the bar. Everyone’s eyes followed them out and Sam knew that tomorrow he was going to regret that. Tomorrow he was going to burry himself under the covers and not come out for a week, but right then… right then, Dean was Sam’s and no slutty little shopping major with a kink for gay incest was going to change that and it certainly wasn’t going to come between them.

They barely made it out the door before Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders, slammed him against the wall and pressed against him, chest to chest, groin to groin, and tongue in his mouth. He half expected Dean to protest - as much as Dean didn’t mind flirting, he wasn’t really big on public displays. It was one of those little quirks that Sam hated as much as he loved, but apparently there was an exception to every rule, because Dean was moaning into Sam’s mouth and his hands were gripping Sam’s back and Sam couldn’t hold back the low throated, territorial growl that said _mine_.

The door beside them opened and for a second Sam thought that there was something, some reason he should stop. Then Dean sank teeth into his lower lip and Sam forgot about anything other than possessing Dean, who was doing something behind Sam with his hand. Reaching back, he grabbed the hand and shoved it against the wall next to Dean’s head, biting Dean’s lip back, just hard enough to hurt.

Dean pulled away, panting and Sam squeezed the wrist in his hand, taking in Dean’s contented, self satisfied smile with the background knowledge that something was up, but he’d had way too much alcohol and was way too horny to fucking care.

Dean laughed a little through a panting, “Hey, man, think maybe we could take this somewhere a little more private?”

Sam frowned, because real privacy was the motel room and no way in hell was he waiting that long. “Car.”

After a couple seconds, Dean took a fistful of Sam’s shirt, pulling him down into another long, hard kiss before pushing him back and half running, half walking to the car. Sam stumbled after him across the parking lot, over the grassy area that served as extra parking, all the way to the line of trees where the car was parked.

By the time he got there, he was breathless and tripping over himself to get Dean pinned back under him, against the first solid surface he could find, which turned out to be the driver’s side car door. Dean didn’t argue, didn’t push him away or insist they at least get _in_ the car before they started ripping clothes off. Instead he tugged Sam’s shirt open and Sam could swear at least one button flew off in the process.

Gripping Dean’s face, he reasserted his tongue in Dean’s mouth, down his throat and fuck, if he couldn’t breathe, that didn’t matter, because it was Dean and Dean was his. Wasn’t letting him go ever again. Wasn’t letting him have meaningless sex with floozy grad school students who couldn’t spell their own names, either.

Wait a second…

He looked over at the bar, but Chrissie wasn’t there. Wasn’t she supposed to meet them?

The palm of Dean’s hand ground against his cock and Sam lost his train of thought. Grabbing the hand, he grinned at Dean before taking the index finger into his mouth, sucking it, wrapping his tongue around it for a moment before pulling off.

“Mine.”

“Fuck, yeah.” Dean fumbled the car door handle before getting it open, tumbling into the backseat with Sam already half on him, stopping at Dean’s waist to undo his pants and yank them down to Dean’s knees before taking his brother’s cock in his mouth, tasting salty precum in the back of his throat as he swallowed it down, reveling in Dean’s litany, “Oh, fuck. Shit. God, Sam…”

A fair amount of kicking later and Dean had one leg out of the jeans and wrapped around Sam’s back, the other hanging off the seat and Sam dropped down, taking Dean to the root before reluctantly popping off, sliding up Dean’s body until they were face to face.

Dean had one hand over his head, pressed against the door and his neck was exposed and naked and Sam dropped down to it, biting and sucking and marking him. The familiar smell of Dean and the warmth of the body under him were like being in bed and now that he thought of it, he felt heavy and weighted down. Except maybe there was something…

“Sam?”

Yeah, something he was supposed to be doing. Supposed to be fucking Dean, supposed to be showing him who he belonged to. Sam worked his fingers into Dean’s hair and gave it a tug. Well, tried to give it a tug, because the lulling pull of alcohol induced sleep was dragging him under and it was really, really inviting.

“Sam? … Son of a bitch!”

 

*****

 

The bed was moving, rocking him back and forth, bouncing him just a little like a rocker and Sam wondered for a minute if maybe Dean didn’t turn on the magic fingers just to fuck with him. Then the bed jerked sharply up and he was dumped onto the floor of the car at an awkward, nearly painful angle.

Groaning, he mumbled, “fuck,” as he pulled himself up, fighting the waves of nausea crashing over him.

“Dude, watch the upholstery!”

The car pulled over and stopped just in time for Sam to scramble out of the backseat and brace himself against a tree while he vomited up everything he’d put in his mouth for the last week. When he finally came back to himself, Dean was leaning against the hood of the Impala, holding a bottle of water out.

Sam stared at the bottle for a minute before stumbling back, taking it gratefully. He unscrewed the top and sipped, making sure his stomach didn’t immediately revolt, before he took a long, deep drink.

Dean waited until the bottle was empty before taking another out from behind his back and handing it over as well. “Better?”

Sam nodded around the bottle, then stopped as the night came back to him and he stared at Dean in horror. Bar, grad student, alcohol, lots and lots of alcohol and Sam knew better than to drink that much and he’d practically mauled Dean getting him to the car and… shit, he didn’t remember the rest.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Sam shook his head imploringly, “Dude, I am so sorry.”

“Sam…”

“No, man, I didn’t mean it, I just… the alcohol and that girl and, god… I am so sorry.”

He looked up through his disheveled bangs to see Dean still leaning against the hood of the car, arms crossed over chest, familiar smirk twisted over his face. At the silence, Dean raised an eyebrow, “You done?”

“What? Um, yeah, I guess, I…” How the hell could Dean take this so lightly? After everything he’d been through, Sam owed it to him not to lose control like that and there Dean was, standing like nothing had happened, which, actually, maybe it hadn’t, because everything kind of went black after they got to the car, he didn’t even really remember getting the door open. Except, his mouth tasted kinda like dried semen, so something had to have happened after that…

“Dude!” He blinked up and Dean chuckled, “You’re an idiot. And a jackass.”

Sam blanked.

“I wanted you to fuck me. I’ve _been_ wanting you to fuck me for months now.”

No, still not getting it. “But we’ve… I mean, we’ve had sex a lot since… since everything.” He really needed to work on putting that into words without that tight feeling in his chest like his heart was being crushed.

Dean’s arms dropped to his side and his palms pressed flat against the hood of the car in a subtle gesture that Sam recognized as Dean being frustrated. In normal conversation, Dean’s hands were in his pocket, holding a bear, or a soda, something just fiddling with something or hooked on his belt loop. When Dean laid his hands out, flat and open, it meant he was upset, holding something back. God, Sam really had fucked up this time.

“No, Sam, I wanted you to fuck me - not just have sex, or ‘make love’,” and he said it like it actually hurt him saying it, which would have made Sam laugh if he hadn’t been so busy feeling guilty over what he might have done. “I want you to rip my clothes off, through me down, and fuck me till I can’t remember my own name, let alone yours.”

Sam tried to think of something to say, but the only thing that came out what, “Oh.”

“Oh? Oh, Sammy? I pay some chick 100 bucks to piss you off and liquor you up so you’ll fuck me, which you didn’t even do, by the way – absolutely amazing blow job, but no actual intercourse – and all you can say is, ‘Oh’?”

For a minute, all Sam could feel was complete and utter relief. He hadn’t fucked Dean. He hadn’t messed anything up, except… wait a fucking minute, “You paid her?!”

“Yes, Sammy, I was desperate enough to pay for sex because you apparently think my ass is made of glass.”

Dean waited for it, waited for the yelling that admission was going to insight, but after a full two minutes of silence, Sam burst out laughing, “You… you paid her?”

“Shut up.” Sam leaned against the tree, still laughing and Dean’s frown deepened, “It’s your fault.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, yeah, it is. I still can’t believe you paid someone to get me mad. You’re usually pretty good at doing that yourself.”

Dean rolled his eyes and kicked the ground petulantly, “I thought I was too, but I’ve been working every angle I can think of for months and all I get is sympathy sex and pity blow jobs. Last night was a ditch effort to get you to give up the stupid quiet lover routine and you fell asleep in my lap.”

Taking the few steps between them, Sam sat on the hood of the car next to Dean, fingering the bottle label while he tried to work through his thoughts. Finally, he settled with, “Why didn’t you talk to me?” Dean frowned up at him and Sam chuckled, “Right, okay, fine, but you still should have said something.”

There was an extended awkward silence before Sam finally spoke again. “When you… went away…”

“We are not having that talk.” Dean started to stand up, but Sam grabbed his shoulder and shoved his back down.

“Yeah, we are.” Sam shifted uncomfortable on the hood, his feet propped up on the bumper, his elbows resting on his knees to give him a better view of his hands while he talked. “When you went away, it just about killed me. I mean, really killed me. I didn’t put a gun to my head, but I put myself in every stupid, dangerous situation I could, eyes closed and drunk and hoping some higher power would take pity on me and let me just die already.”

“It didn’t work, but I look at you and I think about it. I look at you and think about how it felt being alone and how everything I went through is nothing compared to what you went through and I can’t just… I can’t just bury that, Dean. I can’t pretend I don’t know that and don’t tell me you don’t remember, because I may act like an idiot sometimes, but I’m not.”

Dean nodded, “All right, I remember. I wish to god I didn’t, but I do and, no, I will not talk about it, because there are some things you just don’t say out loud. But none of that means I don’t want the same things, Sam. Nothing I went through there means anything when it’s you. Anyone else comes near me with a pair of handcuffs and I’ll kill them on principal, you? You can chain me down, tie me up, whip my ass and scratch my back bloody and I will always, always beg for more.”

Sam’s face heated up and he pressed his thumbs together thoughtfully. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dean sat up hopefully, but Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, but first I need to eat and take something for this hangover.”

“Then…?”

Sam looked over at Dean and grinned wickedly, “Then I’m going to test drive that theory of yours about my being able to chain you down and whip your ass before I fuck you over the hood of this car.”

Dean’s brain stopped for all of thirty seconds, but his body got the message loud and clear and when he finally managed to work through the sentence, he adjusted himself and stood up, hands in his pockets to pull his jacket down over his bulge. “All right, then, glad we got that cleared up.”

He started to turn around, but Sam’s hand on his shoulder stopped him and he looked up at his brother’s red face and shifting eyes, waiting. “Dean, you, um,” he swallowed thickly, “you know you’re it for me, right? There’s no one else I’d rather, you now, _be_ with.”

Shrugging off Sam’s hand, he pursed his lips, “Yeah, I know, _Samantha_ , now get in the car. The next town’s twenty minute’s drive and I don’t know about you, but I could use some pie.”

He didn’t need to look at Sam’s face to see the smile, he could practically feel it like the heat of the sun on his back, and he waited till Sam had walked past him to reach up and smack the back of his head, “And that’s for acting like a girl.”

Sam chuckled, opening the door to the passenger side, “Right, because if we’re not careful our periods’ll sink up.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

-and they lived... well, not _happily_ ever after, but you get the point-


End file.
